


Iron & Ice

by club



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, References to Depression, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 01:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18728788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/club/pseuds/club
Summary: Tony slips up and tells the team more than he meant to during a night of celebratory drinking.





	Iron & Ice

A couple of bad decisions had led him here, sitting in the common room of Avengers Tower after a mission saving New York, once again, from...robots? Aliens? Honestly, Tony was too far gone to remember.

Thor had run out of his Asgardian mead about a month ago, so he and Steve were sober. Bruce and Clint weren’t drinking, the former to prevent a Code Green and the latter to avoid Fury’s wrath at tomorrow morning’s debriefing. Natasha had long since learned to hold her liquor, which left Tony, for the time being, as the only drunk Avenger.

“Those fearsome beasts put up quite the fight.,” Thor said. “I am glad we all came out uninjured.”

“You’re right, big guy,” Tony replied, turning to face Steve. “You know, Cap, for a second there I thought those things had you on the ropes,” he said from his chair, still coherent enough to provide a teasing remark.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been fighting since the forties just for fun,” Steve replied.

Natasha grinned at the response from her spot on the couch. “Technically you were unconscious for almost 67 years, so that’s not entirely accurate.” The group shared a laugh at their leader’s expense as he sent a playful glare towards Natasha.

“And, somehow, after all this time you’ve spent training you’re still unable to end a fight without completely destroying this tower,” Tony said, gesturing to the broken glass and metal that littered the floor.

Clint rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation. “Aw, poor _little rich boy_ got his building broken again,” he teased.

Tony stilled at that phrase. His smirk fell right off his face and the celebratory atmosphere was forgotten as he stared down into his glass. The rest of the team remained oblivious as Tony began to spiral down, down, _down,_ until the others’ chatter began to fade and the walls around him blurred. And he wasn’t with his team—his _family—_ anymore, he was staring into face of Tiberius Stone.

God, he hadn’t seen Ty _years_ , but he looked just as Tony remembered him, with his charming smile that got him whoever and whatever he wanted and his messy black hair that fell into those eyes, cutting like steel and blue like ice that wouldn’t melt. Attractive, sure, but _cold_ , so cold that when he looked at him, Tony couldn’t think straight and all he heard was Ty's vitriol and Howard’s drunken slander repeated back at him.

_“You’re a pathetic little rich boy, Stark. Don’t let anyone think there’s anything there besides daddy’s money and a cheap remark”_

Tony vaguely heard something fall to the floor with a _crash_ , but he paid it no mind.

_“I swear to God, Tony, if you fuck up like that again, I’ll make sure you know your place in this family”_

It doesn’t take much and suddenly Tony can still feel the bruises that remind him of his father’s disappointment like they were left just yesterday. On his back, his arms, his legs. But never on the face. Always behind closed doors.

_“Stark?”_

And he remembers Mama’s ignorance and the little blue pills that kept her complacent and he _knows_ that she’s heard the sound of fist against skin and he so desperately wants to know _why_ she never protected him, why he was never good enough, even for her.

_“Tony?”_

And even though they’re all long gone, he still tries so hard to be better. If not for them, then for Rhodey and Pepper and Happy and the team. He tries and tries and _tries_ to be perfect for them so they don’t ever see that there really isn’t anything behind mask, and he’s so glad that they haven’t tried too hard to see behind it because if they did they’d _know_.

_“Tony!”_

He looks up from the spilled drink on the floor and finds himself looking at Steve. Steve, who he could never live up to no matter how hard he tried, and Tony wonders why he ever did anything for the man in the first place. Perhaps it wasn’t Steve’s fault, but everything, _all_ of it, ultimately led back to him. Their eyes were locked on each other now and Tony couldn’t look away, so he lets himself forget about the consequences for once to just say what’s on his mind and deal with it in the morning.

“He never stopped, you know.”

A beat. “What do you mean?”

“Looking for you. In the ice,” he added as an afterthought. He could see the rest of them now, completely still like they were waiting for him to explode, silent and listening with apprehension in their eyes.

It clicked. “Howard.”

Tony smiled.  “He would talk about you all the time.”

The captain smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Only good things I hope,” he responded warmly. The others began to relax as well, Thor back to his usual smiling self. But something in Steve’s tone stirred up the painful memories Tony had buried deep. A grimace replaced his grin and his eyes turned dark with anger as he looked back at Steve.

“He would never just shut _up_ about you.” The team froze again at that. Steve didn’t look away, even as apprehension began to color his expression.

“He would drone on and on and _on_ about the heroic deeds of Captain America.” The name felt like acid on his tongue, and, God, Tony _hated_ the power it had over him.

“Tony...” Natasha this time. He had never heard her sound so on edge when they weren’t on a mission. But he was in too deep now and her look of concern wasn’t going to stop him. Steve was nervous now, too; Tony could see it. The man was completely still, like he was back on ice, eyes on Tony and full of confusion and trepidation.

“I could never be good enough because Steve Rogers would always be _better_ ,” Tony said, both his body and voice so tense with fury that they trembled. The team’s expressions softened to something akin to sadness. _So they understand,_ he thought.

“Tony, I...I’m sorry. That’s not-” Steve began.

“Why?” Tony interrupted.

“Huh?”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I-” Steve paused. “That’s just...not the Howard I knew.”

He scoffed at that. “But you never did anything, not like he did.”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Clint asked, drawing Tony’s attention away from the super-soldier. He’d said too much.

“Tony?” Bruce spoke this time, slowly, as if he didn’t want an answer to his question. “Did he hit you?”

_Screw it._

Tony sighed, his voice wavering, “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

The team visibly tensed at that. None of them expected the conversation to take such a dark turn so quickly. They looked at Tony in horror, all of them except Natasha, whose expression was completely blank, stoic, like that was her default setting. They were at a loss for words, but this wasn’t new to him.

It was Thor who broke the silence of the tensest silence the Avengers had ever seen. “And your mother?”

His chuckle lacked any humor. “She popped antidepressants like they were candy to try to drown out the sound of him and his secretary fucking in their bedroom, so she was out of it most of the time.”

_“Jesus,_ "Steve cursed. “How the hell did he get away with that?”

_Never on the face. Always behind closed doors._ “He was smart about it.” None of them pushed for an actual answer.

Howard and Ty’s criticisms were screaming at him now, and they wouldn’t let up. Echoes of them time and time again reminding him that _he’s not good enough._ And Tony knows that. He knows he’s weak and drunk and turning into his father more and more every day even though that’s the last thing he wants to become.

_“Stark men are made of iron.”_

_“Like father, like son, huh, Stark?”_

And Tony just wants to go back and stop himself from saying anything at all, but the deed is done and the consequences must be dealt with.

“I think I’m going to go to bed now,” he says, finally. They move to stop him, but their gentle protests and pleading eyes are interrupted.

“Can we just deal with it tomorrow, please?” he asks, and lets the tears fall.

They don’t respond, but they don’t stop him, either, and Tony leaves.


End file.
